The sound of hooves echoed against the cobblestone drive as a carriage came to a halt outside. Charlotte wiped her hands on her apron, muttering under her breath, "Of all the suitors in the kingdom, him. Of course, it's him."
The warm scent of cookies filled the kitchen as she set the tray on the counter. She turned to the maid with a sigh. "Celine dreams of castles . She'll wrap him around her finger in no time if it gets her closer to those ambitions. But Isabella… She's better than this nonsense. She deserves a good man. Someone decent and kind, "Not a sweaty old merchant who looks like a sack of potatoes!"The maid giggled, unable to help herself, as she handed a glass of juice to Charlotte.
Charlotte snorted, surprising herself. "Exactly! His perfume's so strong I could smell him from here. Probably trying to cover up the stench of his overconfidence."
She swiped her sun-kissed skin, brushing off the specks of flour that clung to her cheek and dress, her irritation clear in the way her blue eyes seemed to vibrate with frustration. Her blonde hair, braided neatly and pinned up, caught the light as she gestured sharply. "Do you know," she continued, taking a sip of the juice, "he once said I had 'charm for a woman of my age'? I nearly hit him with the tea tray."
The maid bit her lip, trying not to laugh outright, her mirth only adding to Charlotte's exasperation.
Honestly, I'd take a stray dog over him any day." They both laughed, but Charlotte quickly composed herself as the knock at the door cut through the moment. "Well, time to put on the smile and let the potatoes in," she muttered, straightening her apron and leaving the maid chuckling softly behind her.
Charlotte straightened, masking her distaste behind a practiced smile as she opened the door.
"Ah, Lady Charlotte," Burlington exclaimed, bowing theatrically. "As radiant as ever!"
Her polite smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Burlington," she said coolly, stepping aside. "Punctual as always."
Burlington, a 48-year-old merchant, wore his wealth like armor. His graying hair at the sides and finely tailored coats lent him an air of elegance, but it did little to mask his round face, toothy grin, or bloated arrogance.
Engaged to Charlotte's stunning 25-year-old daughter, Celine, he embodied everything Charlotte despised. The match, born of his immense fortune, was one she could not prevent—though the thought of her vibrant daughter bound to such a man was a bitter torment.
" Are we competing for who looks more miserable today?" Celine teased,leaning against the door frame.
"This corset is torture," Isabella muttered. "And this makeup—what is this? A masquerade?"
Celine chuckled.
"I look ridiculous. I should be holding a sword, not wearing this."
"Stop complaining, Isabella!"
Isabella shifted awkwardly in the deep red gown, the elegant cut showcasing far more of her cleavage than she would have liked. Her chestnut hair, styled in soft waves, framed her flushed face as she tugged at the fabric, glaring at her reflection.
Celine, draped in a shimmering green dress that clung to her curves with dangerous grace, watched from the side with a knowing smile. Her straight blonde hair glowed under the light, and her emerald eyes gleamed with mischief. She stepped closer, circling her sister like an artist admiring their masterpiece.
"Who would've thought I'd be so skilled at dressing you up?" Celine teased, her tone grand and theatrical.
She flicked a nonexistent speck of dust off Isabella's shoulder, then added, "Ah, but of course, you've inherited the beauty of your sister."
Isabella scowled. "This is ridiculous, Celine."
"Nonsense!" Celine exclaimed, lifting Isabella's chin with a playful finger to meet her gaze in the mirror. "Who knows? Perhaps there will be a charming suitor—or several—who might fall helplessly at your feet tonight. This beauty of yours deserves to be noticed."
Isabella blushed deeper, dropping her gaze. "I'd rather they didn't."
Celine laughed, the sound light and confident as she adjusted her own gown. "Oh, don't be such a bore. Let's go—we've an evening to conquer." With that, she turned on her heel, her gown shimmering like a cascade of emeralds as she strode toward the door.
Burlington puffed out his chest. "Ah, wonderful. I must say, your Celine is truly a gem among jewels."
Charlotte's smile tightened. "Celine has always been… determined," she said curtly, nodding toward a chair. "If you'll excuse me, they will be here soon."
She turned sharply before he could respond, returning to the kitchen with the faintest hint of a scoff. "Gem among jewels," she muttered under her breath. "More like bait on a hook." The maid glanced at her, startled, but wisely said nothing.
From the kitchen, Charlotte heard the familiar click of Celine's heels on the stairs and Burlington's booming voice exclaiming his admiration :"Ah, my sweet Celine," he said, grinning too widely. "You look... divine as always."
She shook her head, grabbing the tray of cookies with a sigh. The day had barely begun, but it already felt unbearably long.
Celine nearly gagged but forced a smile. "Why, thank you, darling," she purred, her tone sickly sweet. "Shall we?"
His eyes, however, wandered past her and landed on Isabella, who was still at the top of the stairs. His gaze lingered far too long—up and down, like he was appraising a prize. Isabella stiffened, uncomfortable with his hungry look.
Celine's eyes narrowed instantly, didn't miss a thing. Her smile twisted ever so slightly as she stepped closer to Burlington. and said to him, in voice still sugary, please! My sister is not for your inspection." there was a hard edge beneath her words….. She leaned in slightly, her tone playful,I'll get jealous if you're not careful".Burlington's face reddened, and he quickly looked away, mumbling an apology. "I—I didn't mean to—"
"Oh, I'm sure you didn't," Celine said, stepping into the carriage with all the grace of a queen. "Now, let's be on our way, shall we?"Isabella, biting back her irritation, slid in after her sister. She could feel Barlkington's lingering gaze like a weight on her skin as he awkwardly joined them inside.
Once they were settled, Celine leaned toward her fiancé, her voice low but excited. The carriage creaked along the cobblestone road, shadows lengthening as the sun began its descent. Isabella and Celine sat quietly, the earlier tension now dissipating into pensive silence.
Burlington, seated across from Isabella, cleared his throat, leaning forward with an air of feigned nonchalance.
"Ladies," he began, his round face shadowed in the fading light, "I wonder—have either of you heard what the people of Silverstone are saying about the royal family of Dawnforge?"
Celine looked up, her emerald eyes narrowing with curiosity. Isabella frowned faintly. "No," she replied cautiously. "What are they saying?"
"Well," Burlington began, smoothing the front of his coat, "it seems their absence from most court events over the years hasn't gone unnoticed. Few in the capital have ever seen them up close. There are whispers… rumors about the strange ways of the Dawnforge line."
Isabella raised a brow. "Strange how?"
Burlington leaned back, the weight of his words heavy in the cramped space. "The princess—Lady Varsa—was rumored to have turned down countless suitors, both from Dawnforge and far beyond. Noble heirs, even kings… every last one of them refused. For years, it seemed she'd never marry. Yet now, out of nowhere, she chooses to ally herself with the most feared ruler's only son— Prince of Radiantfell , no older than eighteen."
"An alliance with Radiantfell?" Celine interjected sharply. "For what purpose?"
"Power," Burlington said with a knowing smirk. "Both kingdoms have their interests. But people wonder why Lady Varsa refused so many prospects only to settle for this… arrangement." He paused, then lowered his voice, as though even the trees might overhear. "And then there's the prince."
"Rasmus," Isabella murmured, her expression unreadable.
"A riddle, that one," Burlington continued. "No one knows much about him—some say he rarely speaks, barely blinks. Others, well…" He gave a theatrical shudder. "They say he drinks blood."
"Ridiculous," Celine scoffed, though her fingers tightened subtly around the edge of her gown.
"And his mother?" Isabella pressed.
Burlington nodded gravely. "Dead " before the twins were old enough to know her, or as the rumour states. though—now that's where it gets murky. Some say illness. Others say…" He trailed off dramatically, his eyes flicking toward the carriage window. "It was something darker. Something from within the cold walls of Dawnforge itself."
The sisters exchanged a glance, unease flickering across their features despite their attempts to mask it.
"Silverstone thrives on gossip," Celine said airily, though her tone betrayed her nerves. "No doubt these are just wild tales spun to keep people entertained."
"Perhaps," Burlington admitted, his grin never wavering. "But I find it curious. Secrets don't last long in the capital, yet the Redwyne Graves family has kept theirs locked away for years. If the rumors are true, there's more to them—and this marriage—than anyone dares admit."
" Dawnforge The Capital "
Another jolt of the carriage made Isabella glance out the window, her gaze lost in the gathering dusk. Burlington's words lingered, unsettling as the chill now creeping into the air.
"Well," she said at last, her tone firm but low, "rumors won't change the truth, no matter how often they're whispered."
"Ah, but in Silverstone," Burlington said with a chuckle, "the truth is rarely more than another tale for the fire."
Silence fell between them once more as the carriage rolled on, the city of Silverstone still a distant shimmer on the darkening horizon.
The carriage jolted again, rattling them as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the hills. Burlington straightened and, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone, added, "Of course, there are darker whispers. Some claim the family is cursed—that Rasmus and his sister are the harbingers of it. No mother would willingly leave her children unless…" He trailed off, letting the words linger.
Isabella's heart raced, not from fear but something far stranger—a glimmer of excitement she refused to acknowledge. Her hands rested on her lap, fingers pressing into the folds of her gown as her gaze remained on the window.
When the carriage turned the final bend, Silverstone came into view. As the city rose from the night like a jewel, its streets glowed with flickering torchlight and scattered magic. The dark, obsidian stone of the roads gleamed as though polished by starlight, casting reflections like a living river beneath their wheels.Vendors still lingered at their carts, their voices blending with children playing with their little candlelit toys. In another corner, groups gathered around young priestly maidens clad in white. They stood on elevated platforms, calling out their urgent message:
"You must kneel!" one shouted, her voice cutting through the noise. "Kneel and repent before your gods! Your prince is no savior, no ruler!"
The majority of the crowd passed by without a glance, too busy or indifferent to listen. But the words settled like a cold weight.
"Fascinating," Isabella whispered, her heterochromatic eyes wide as they followed the shifting cityscape. Despite the eerie undertones, the magic and mystery of it all seemed to wrap around her, drawing her closer.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Isabella said quietly, almost to herself.
"B…Beautiful," Celine admitted, but her brow furrowed as a tightness settled in her chest. Something about the city made her wonder if perhaps they should have stayed home, far away from its unnatural vibrance and cryptic whispers. She wrapped her fingers tightly around the fabric of her shimmering green gown, her confidence slipping for the first time.
Burlington, to her discomfort, shifted in his seat, his gaze lingering far too long on Isabella's neckline as the flickering lights outside drew her focus away. Her soft waves of chestnut hair framed her skin, illuminated faintly by the light spilling into the carriage.
She turned to him suddenly, her sharp heterochromatic eyes meeting his leering gaze before he could mask it. His face flushed, and he cleared his throat loudly.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" he said clumsily, gesturing out the window to hide his discomfort.
"It's alive," Isabella replied, her voice soft yet charged. She was captivated by Silverstone's unsettling blend of magic and mortality, unable to decide if it was the city's beauty or its dangers that thrilled her more.
Celine, watching her sister closely, murmured, "Don't let it draw you in too deep, Isabella."
As the carriage rattled through the cobblestone streets of Silverstone, Celine sat beside Isabella, arms crossed and a frown marring her usually composed features.
"I don't like this," she muttered, her emerald eyes darting to the peculiar red crosses painted on doorsteps and the enigmatic symbols adorning the cottages.
"We don't belong here, Isabella."
Isabella, sensing her sister's unease, leaned closer and whispered, "Look over there, Celine."
She discreetly pointed to a passing carriage, its crest unmistakably belonging to the esteemed House of Peak.
"Isn't that Lady Peak? And behind her, the Duke of Ravenscroft's entourage."
Celine's eyes widened, her previous apprehension melting into excitement.
"Oh, the Duke is here? And Lady Peak? I heard her gowns are imported from the finest ateliers in Radiantfell."
Isabella chuckled softly, watching her sister's transformation.
"See? We're in distinguished company. There's much to look forward to."
Celine straightened her posture, a determined glint in her eye.
"You're right. This is our opportunity to shine."
As the palace's gothic spires came into view, casting long shadows under the setting sun, the sisters shared a conspiratorial smile, ready to face whatever awaited them beyond the grand gates.
Meanwhile, across from them, Burlington sipped his tea, oblivious to the sisters' silent exchange, his attention momentarily diverted by the opulence unfolding outside the carriage window.